


sunshine in your hands

by sleep_247



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep_247/pseuds/sleep_247
Summary: “For the upteenth time, you’re not gonna appear on the recording, dumbass.”A shame,a part of Kageyama thinks,but probably for the better. Nothing golden stays, if his twenty-three years of living serves as proof; he doesn’t want to be reminded of thewhat ifsand thecould have beensevery time he scrolls through his phone.Still, the tug on his sleeve becomes ever more insistent. Kageyama adjusts the angle of his phone with an exaggerated grumble.“There, happy now?”The little god laughs at his half-hearted scowl— and Kageyama’s heart, that traitorous thing, swells with a warmth that comes too easily for a broken boy.





	sunshine in your hands

**Author's Note:**

> HEY this is a very late and overdue birthday gift fic for riddle ;u;   
im sorry its not even done yet because i wrote too much and now we have to split things in between. anyway, please enjoy, and please suffer with me as i churn out the next installment(s)?

“You’re sure you don’t want to tell the others?” 

  


Kageyama nods stiffly, adjusting the strap of his bag. 

  


Standing across from him on the train platform, vice-captain Koji hums, pensive. The silence that settles between the two is almost unbearable; he shuffles on the spot, gaze fixated on the scruffed mudguard of his sneakers. 

  


Kageyama wonders if he should say something. _Thank you for your support throughout the years_ or _I’ll work hard to come back_— all of the things Kageyama’s mother taught him to say to be more considerate of others, to curate bonds and make amends— but his stomach curdles at the thought of passing empty words he doesn’t believe.

  


Thankfully, he doesn’t have to mull on it any longer, as the station intercom buzzes overhead: 

  


_“Attention. The Kagayaki super express bound for Shin Takaoka Station will now be departing. All passengers heading to Shin Takaoka must board the Shinkansen—”_

  


“Well, I guess this is it for now.” 

  


Kageyama tries not to flinch when Koji places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. 

  


“We’ll be waiting for you, Kageyama.”

  


It’s meant to make him feel better, probably— reassure him that Kageyama will always have a place back on the court. It’s characteristic of the vice-captain’s unconditional belief in the innate strength of every human being to overcome their trials, or something like that. But the trust presses down with an iron weight, of expectations that Kageyama cannot answer. 

  


_This isn’t a case of the yips,_ he thinks bitterly. His hands twitch by his sides, but Kageyama suppresses the urge to cover his knee, nails biting into his palms. 

  


He schools his expression, glad that his gaze is directed to the floor, hoping that his vice-captain won’t question why he spent the last three months wasting away in his college dorm until he decided to officially quit the volleyball team and buy a one-way ticket to nowhere.

  


_“The doors are now closing. Please step away from the yellow line. The doors are now closing. Please step away from the yellow—”_

  


The hand on his shoulder drops, though Kageyama barely registers the motion, barely makes out the last murmur of Koji’s voice through the buzzing between his ears. 

  


Nearly 16 years spent on the court, yet not even a second to leave it behind—

  


He supposes he should cry, but there’s nothing left in him to offer. 

  


.  
.  
.  
.  
.

  


Roughly five hours later and one transfer onto the Kaetsuno bus, Kageyama’s “one-way ticket to nowhere” leaves him— with his ratty shoulder bag and carry-on— at the Shirakawa-go bus terminal. 

  


Kageyama has been to the small mountain village of Shirakawa-go before, a few years back. His middle school teachers had planned the third years’ graduation trip to the heritage site in hopes that the students would appreciate the rows of _gasshou-zukuri_-styled housing peppered between the vibrant green of rice paddies. _It’s important to trace back to your roots in the future,_ they announced amidst the collective groans of the disgruntled class.

  


Quite frankly, Kageyama doesn’t remember much of the graduation trip. He doesn’t recall being touched by the scenery either. Granted, much of his earlier years of schooling were remarkably unmemorable, with the exception of volleyball practice and tournaments. 

  


He shakes his head, wondering if it’s too late to question why he came here in the first place. 

  


_Going to the countryside would be good for you— a nice change of pace,_ his mother had told him a few weeks back. (_From what?_ The question slipped out of Kageyama’s mouth that day, to which his mother responded, _Oh, you know—_ as if he’s supposed to figure out whatever she meant when he can’t even piece together his own life.) 

  


Kageyama slings his bag over his shoulder and stands up from his seat. Stepping out of the air-conditioned bus, he winces as the full brunt of the hot, humid summer air wraps around him like a weighted wool blanket. Each breath he takes feels like forcing wet cotton through his lungs. He pulls down his baseball cap further down his eyes— a meager source of shelter from the relentless rays of the sun. 

  


_It’s too hot,_ Kageyama groans internally. The heat and humidity feels unbearable, and it’s almost enough to make him tuck tail and hitch the next bus ride to Shin Takaoka Station, grab a seat on the Shinkansen headed for Tokyo, and crash at one of the internet cafes overnight. 

  


_Almost._

  


Instead, he decides to head to the convenience store down the road. Buy an ice pop, cool off in the store while figuring out his lodging for the next few days— in hindsight, he should’ve booked a room at a hostel in advance, but everything about this trip had been on a whim. 

  


When he pushes past the glass doors of the 7-Eleven, Kageyama is immensely disappointed to discover that the only source of internal cooling is a rickety old fan next to the counter. Battered with duct tape plastered around its neck, the fan putters and squeaks, as if announcing to the lone visitor that it is running on its last legs. 

  


Pulling at the collar of his shirt, Kageyama heads for the freezer. He peers through the glass top, scanning through the sparse selection for the familiar soda-blue packaging of _Gari Gari-kun._

  


“What’re ya lookin’ for, kid?” A gruff voice rumbles from behind him. Kageyama starts with a jolt, hands scrabbling for his bag. He flushes when he hears the stranger snort. 

  


When Kageyama turns around to face the speaker, the stranger in question reveals himself to be a rugged-looking man. With speckled gray hair and deep wrinkles set around his eyes and forehead, the man looks to be around his mid-50s, though there’s an air of strength about him, like the solid trunk of an old, unyielding tree. 

  


“I asked you a question, brat. They don’t teach kids to reply to their elders nowadays?” 

  


“S-sorry,” Kageyama stammers in response. “I was looking for an ice pop….” He trails off into a mumble.

  


The man raises an eyebrow, surveying Kageyama with an indecipherable expression on his face. Kageyama squirms on the spot, eyes flickering back to the ground, back to the scruffed tops of his sneakers. He feels the first dredge of anxiety claw its way from the pit of his stomach, a sickening feeling that has him blink his eyes in rapid succession.

  


_It was a mistake to come here. He should have stayed at the dorm, why did he decide to leave? The dorm was safe, wasn’t it? He should have stuck with familiar pains—_

  


The old man reaches over and pushes the glass panel of the freezer. Reaching in, he fishes out a _Gari Gari-kun_, pulls apart the wrapper, then holds out the blue popsicle before Kageyama.

  


“Uhm…?”

  


“The name’s Saito.” The old man clicks his tongue impatiently when Kageyama stares at him, dumbfounded. “Take it.” 

  


Kageyama blinks. “Thank you,” he says as he receives the ice pop in his hand. Kageyama wonders if he looks pathetic enough to warrant a free popsicle at the young age of twenty-three. 

  


Saito-san grabs a sports drink from the cooler, uncapping the drink with a flick of his wrist. “What brought a city kid like you down here? Don’t you got a part-time job or school?” 

  


“Just… visiting.” The itch is there again, that incessant need to cover his knee. Kageyama wills himself to breathe. “I’m currently on break.” 

  


“Huh.” The older man grunts. “Better enjoy that break then. Life moves faster in the city, don’t it.” 

  


Kageyama bites into the popsicle. _Funny, because it seems like time has stopped for me,_ he swallows down.

  



End file.
